


More Delightful than Wine

by chellefic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 02:31:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellefic/pseuds/chellefic
Summary: A discussion of what is and isn't sinful causes Crowley to look at Aziraphale in a new light.





	More Delightful than Wine

**Author's Note:**

> "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth - for love is more delightful than wine." - Song of Solomon 1:2

“Lust,” Crowley said. Leaning across the table and pointing toward two other pub patrons who were gazing rather nauseatingly at each other - leaning down, he tilted his head to the side for a clear look - and playing footsie under the table. “Couple of sinners right there.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said.

“I’m telling you, angel, that’s lust.” He took a drink of his wine.

“Yes, yes, they desire one another. That’s not a sin.”

“Pretty sure it is. One of the seven deadly ones, in fact.”

“Which, may I remind you, is not a list created by the Almighty. It wasn’t even created by angels or demons. It’s just what a bunch of men decided was sinful.”

Aziraphale had a point. “What about the commandments? Those came from Herself. Thou shalt not covet they neighbor’s wife. Or sheep.”

“That’s envy.”

“And lust.”

“But only for the wife.” Aziraphale glared as if daring Crowley to argue coveting sheep was also lust. 

Crowley was having too much fun to risk ruining the mood so he let the sheep go, even though he’d known a few shepherds for whom sheep coveting had been definitely lustful. “Still lust.”

“Partially, but even then it’s for someone else’s spouse. There is no commandment saying ‘thou shalt not have sex with someone who desires you equally and isn’t in a monogamous relationship with someone else.’”

“Wouldn’t have fit on the tablet.”

“Probably not.”

Crossing his arms and resting them on the edge of the table, Crowley looked directly at Aziraphale. “So, you, an angel, do not believe that lust or sex are sins.”

“Not unless someone is harmed, no.”

“Interesting perspective.”

“Do you think it’s a sin?”

“Never gave it much thought, to be honest.” Crowley narrowed his gaze. “But you have.”

Aziraphale glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to hear and leaned forward. “We’re six thousand years old. That’s a lot of time to think.”

“So have you ever,” Crowley paused for emphasis, “lusted?”

“That’s a very personal question.”

“If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

Aziraphale looked down at his wine, then took a long drink of it. “I may have.”

“You did.” Crowley was delighted. He rarely got to learn something new about Aziraphale. They had known one another for a long time, after all. “Tell me more.”

“If you must know, I’ve experimented a bit.”

“With?”

If Crowley hadn’t been leaning in and listening closely, he would have missed Aziraphale’s response. “Masturbation. Mostly.”

Crowley shifted back in his chair. This whole conversation had been full of surprises. “Good for you,” he said, raising his glass. 

Aziraphale looked at him side-eyed, but touched his glass to Crowley’s. “Thank you. I think.”

They parted outside the pub, which was almost exactly mid-way between their two residences. Convenience was about the only thing it had to offer. That, and it was rarely crowded.

Crowley sauntered vaguely in the direction of home. He wasn’t in a hurry. He had a pleasant buzz from the alcohol, and he was still delighted with this new bit of information about Aziraphale. 

Masturbation. It was the last thing he’d have expected of the angel. Crowley hadn’t even tried it and he was a demon. They were expected to indulge. Although, he wrinkled his nose, he’d prefer to never think of any of his fellow demons wanking. 

Aziraphale, on the other hand. Crowley wondered how often he did it. Did he use his hands or had he acquired toys? Did he watch porn? Crowley couldn’t imagine Aziraphale watching porn. He only watched ordinary movies when Crowley badgered him into it.

Books, however, Aziraphale did love his books. And there were plenty of explicit books out there, with and without pictures. That was probably it. Aziraphale had stumbled across an interesting book or two, become aroused while reading it, and wanked away. Crowley tried to picture it and found the image came quite easily. He’d been watching the angel eat since before the fall of Rome, after all, and Aziraphale did love to indulge. His sex moan probably wasn’t that different from his crepe moan or his sushi moan. And the look on his face when he pleasured himself was probably like the one he got when he’d discovered a really good vintage.

Aziraphale indulging in a bit of self-pleasure, that wasn’t hard to imagine at all.

It was so easy to imagine that Crowley found himself unable to stop. Over the course of the next 24 hours he became rather obsessed, which was how he ended up calling Aziraphale at an hour rather too late to be polite. As much as Crowley hated asking for help, there wasn’t anything else for it. 

“They don’t work,” he announced as soon as Aziraphale answered.

“I’m sorry, but what don’t work?” 

“My parts.” Crowley glared at the parts in question.

“Clearly, they’re yours if they’re in your possession, but I can’t help you unless I know what they are part of.” Aziraphale could be annoyingly agreeable sometimes.

“Me. They’re part of me. They’re my parts.”

“Ah. That does narrow things somewhat, but you have a fair number of parts, dear. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific. Is it your wings?”

“No, it’s not my wings. It’s —” Crowley wasn’t human, and thus he was not embarrassed in the slightest by what he was about to say. “My penis.”

“Your penis?”

“Although perhaps I should have said ‘cock.’ Penis isn’t a terribly sexy word, is it?”

“Are you trying to be sexy?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley could hear him trying to contain his curiosity. He’d always been just as curious as Crowley himself, but he’d controlled it better, which was probably why he was still an angel.

“Yes. That’s the point. But it won’t cooperate.”

“I see.”

He should see. After all, the whole thing was his fault. In six millennia, Crowley had never bothered much with his corporation, now he was trying to get it aroused, all because Aziraphale apparently liked it. “Yes, well, how do I make it work?” 

“Have you tried touching it?”

“Of course I’ve tried touching it.”

“Nicely?” 

“Yes, nicely. Would I abuse my own flesh?”

Surprisingly, Aziraphale didn’t say ‘you are a demon.’ What he said instead was: “Perhaps you should try being rougher. Some people enjoy it more that way.”

Crowley did not ask how Aziraphale knew how other people liked having their penises touched. He did file the question away for later. “I tried that, too.”

“What about pornography?”

“Watched at least an hour. In all possible combinations.” Crowley looked down at his still-soft penis. “No reaction. Maybe humans just don’t do it for me.”

After a moment’s pause, Aziraphale said, “I’m not sure how I can help.”

“Just tell me what to do. Or what you do.”

“That’s awfully personal.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, because in his experience Aziraphale would give in to affection more easily than logic. Also, he wasn’t sure even he could logically argue Aziraphale should teach him to masturbate. Because Aziraphale had always valued politeness, he added, “Please.” 

Aziraphale sighed. “Are you in your bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“On your bed, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“Naked?”

Crowley shoved his pants off his legs. “I am now.”

“Oh, um, good. That’s good. Now lay back and close your eyes.”

Stretching out on the bed, Crowley closed his eyes. This felt better already. “All set.”

“I want you to touch yourself. Trail your fingers over your skin. Don’t worry about your penis — I mean cock — just touch yourself wherever it feels good.”

After turning his phone to speaker, Crowley put it down on the bed and skimmed both hands over his torso. “I feel ridiculous.”

“If you were touching someone else, where would you touch?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley didn’t touch people, not on purpose. The only being he even liked was Aziraphale. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “Where would you touch?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Neck. That is to say, I’d brush my finger along the side of your neck. It’s very long, and —” He stopped, then added, “Well, it’s long.”

Crowley brushed a finger along the side of his neck. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting in the sensation, until he found himself imagining it was Aziraphale’s finger.

“How is it?”

“It’s nice,” Crowley said repeating the touch. “Where else should I touch?”

“You could trail your fingers along your collarbone, trace it with your fingers.”

Crowley did. “That’s nice, too.”

“Take as long as you like. There’s no need to hurry.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, moving his fingers back up his collarbone, before stroking them up and down his neck.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley smiled. “I’m touching my neck with the pads of my fingers. It’s pleasant.” He did not say ‘I’m imagining the fingers are yours.’

“It’s sensitive. That’s good for kissing,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “What I mean to say is that’s where a lover would kiss you, your neck.”

“How would lover kiss my neck?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale sounded flustered and Crowley had always had a weak spot for a flustered Aziraphale.

“Well, em, I suppose they’d brush the skin with their lips, maybe part them slightly so they could taste.”

“They’d want to taste my skin?”

“Oh yes.”

“Isn’t the neck where humans leave hickeys?” Crowley knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to find out how much Aziraphale knew now that he knew Aziraphale knew about such things.

“It’s a common location. It requires suction.”

“Can we get hickeys, do you think?” Crowley asked, still touching the side of his neck while in his mind Aziraphale sucked the spot beneath his fingers.

“I don’t know. Perhaps we should try somewhere else.”

“I’ll touch wherever you would like me to.” If there was some temptation in his voice, it couldn’t be helped. Crowley was a demon, after all. 

Aziraphale breathed in sharply, but he sounded annoyingly composed when he spoke. “Very well. Slide your fingers further down and rub the tips of your fingers over a nipple.”

Crowley did so. 

“Is it hard?”

“It’s getting that way.” He’d noticed human nipples before, of course, but he’d never stopped to wonder if firmness was a sign of arousal.

“So you like it?”

“Yes.”

“You could, um, squeeze a little, if you like.”

“Oh, that’s very nice.”

“So you like nipple stimulation.”

“Apparently, I do.”

“Not everyone does.”

“Do you?”

“That’s a bit of a personal question.”

“Angel.” After six millennia, it took only that one word to make his point. 

“I like it fine,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not my favorite sensation, but it’s not without its charms.”

“Bet it would feel even better with a mouth,” Crowley said, because the image of Aziraphale’s mouth on him had appeared in his mind and was refusing to leave. Not that he was trying all that hard to get rid of it. In truth, he’d closed his eyes so he could better picture Aziraphale bending over his chest, his lips closing around Crowley’s nipple. 

“Yes, I imagine it would.”

“It would probably feel good to do, too. That bit of flesh against your tongue, maybe making the other person moan bit.”

“Have you done both sides?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley recognized an attempt to take control of the conversation when he heard it. “If that’s what you wish…” He shifted his hand to the opposite nipple. “Mmmm, I think this side may be even more sensitive. Is that possible?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Where shall I touch next?”

“Thighs are sensitive on some people.”

“Well then, shall we find out about mine?” Shifting so he was leaning back on one hand, Crowley looked down at his legs. “They’re long, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale sounded a little choked.

“Bit pale, too.” He placed his free hand just above a knee and slowly moved it upward. “Definitely sensitive.”

“What,” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m just moving my hand up the inside of my thigh. The right one. I’m going slow so I can really feel it.”

“Oh.”

“My cock’s finally taken an interest. I knew they got bigger when erect, but that’s quite a bit bigger. Should I touch it, do you think?”

“Not yet.” Aziraphale was starting to sound a bit hoarse. “There’s that crease at the top of your thigh. You should definitely touch there.”

“That’s nice, too. What about my testicles? Shall I touch them?”

“Just be gentle.”

“I will.” He cupped one in his hand. They even felt vulnerable. Now that he was doing it, he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to live so long in this body without ever really touching it.

“Some people like having them sucked,” Aizaraphale said. “Softly, of course.”

“Of course,” Crowley repeated, as his mind tried to piece together what it would feel like to have Aziraphale’s mouth on him, sucking softly. “Do I need to caress my other thigh, do you think? Or can I touch my cock now?”

“You’re always so impatient. Go ahead.”

Dropping back onto the bed, Crowley wrapped a hand around his cock, gasping a bit at the sensation.

“Good?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes.”

“Move your hand slowly,” he instructed. “There’s no need to rush, after all. You’re immortal. You have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself.”

Aziraphale had a point, so Crowley stroked slowly, bringing his hand all of the way up past the tip and then back down.

“Tell me how it feels.”

“It’s good.”

“Well, yes, but perhaps a bit more detail?”

“You know how it feels. You’ve done it.”

“I know how it feels to me, not you. It’s not as though I’m in your body.”

You could be, Crowley thought. He could be in here with Crowley. They could be touching him together, experiencing the pleasure together. The thought made him moan.

“Oil can help,” Aziraphale said, “provide some lubrication so you can touch harder and faster.”

“You just told me to go slow.”

“I simply wanted you to know all of your options.”

It felt best at the head so Crowley concentrated his efforts there, moving his hand a bit faster, feeling the sensation build, completely unaware of how his breathing was accelerating. He’d never realized his body could feel like this.

“Tell me what you’re doing,” Aziraphale said.

“I’m stroking.”

“The whole thing?”

“The head.”

“Keep going. It’s building, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I’m…” He arched his neck and upper back, pressing them back into the bed and pushing his hips up. 

“That’s it, let it happen. Let yourself feel it.”

Aziraphale’s encouragement just aroused him more. 

“You deserve pleasure, my dear, lots and lots of pleasure.”

Crowley groaned. He was so close. “Aziraphale. Angel. I—” His whole body was straining toward something that felt just out of reach, but Crowley couldn’t stop.

“Go ahead. Release. Let the pleasure take you.”

He did, hips shifting as fluid left his cock in long streaks. For a moment, his brain whited-out. There was no thought, just pleasure.

Crowley dropped back against the sheets, breathing rapidly as his heart continued to race.

“I believe that was a successful experiment,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley smiled. “Yes, it was. Thank you for your help.”

“Always happy to help a friend. I should go. Customers. Things to do. We can talk later.”

“Mmmm,” Crowley agreed, too blissed out to point out there were unlikely to be any customers at this hour, but he still felt a small pang of loss when Aziraphale hung up. He lay still, staring up at nothing at all. The last time he’d felt this relaxed had been — he couldn’t remember when he’d been this relaxed. No wonder humans liked sex so much, some very pleasant sensations, all building to a paroxysm of pleasure, and then this.

He should have tried this ages ago. Hard to believe Aziraphale had beaten him to it, but then the angel had always been something of a hedonist. 

Glancing down at his chest, Crowley wrinkled his nose. Too bad it was so messy. Although Heaven and Hell seemed inclined to leave them alone, at least for now, he and Aziraphale had agreed it would be best not to push their luck with minor displays of power, such as using a miracle to clean semen from his skin. Sighing, he got out of bed.

His shower was one of the few things Crowley liked about his flat. It was stark and modern, of course, black walls and gleaming stainless steel fixtures. But the spray was hot and strong. Stepping into it, he let the warm water cascade over his shoulders and down his back. In his relaxed state, it felt even better than usual.

Picking up the soap, he decided to forgo the flannel and instead worked up a nice lather in his hands before rubbing them over his chest, washing away the evidence of his first orgasm.

He wondered if Aziraphale owned a shower. Crowley would have to ask him.

It was probably nothing like this, though. Aziraphale’s shower was most likely part of a tub, a large claw-foot tub, with a metal pipe around it that the shower curtain hung from. He smiled at the image of Aziraphale in his shower, using a large brush to clean his back. 

Of course, he probably used his hands to clean the rest of his body, just like Crowley was doing now.

Aziraphale’s chest was broader than his, but not too broad. It was just right, in Crowley’s opinion. 

Crowley himself was all sharp angles, but Aziraphale was solid, someone you could wrap your arms around, not that Crowley had ever considered doing such a thing.

But he did wonder, as he washed his own leg, what it might be like to wash Aziraphale’s, to feel his friend’s thigh beneath his hands, or Aziraphale’s shoulders, his chest.

His arse.

Crowley was certain it would fit perfectly in his hands. Not that he’d seen Aziraphale’s backside in years. Aziraphale had been wearing that damned coat for decades. He never took it off, at least not when Crowley was around. 

Aziraphale wore too many layers. Crowley wanted to strip them off of him, get his hands on skin. 

He slid his own hand down his chest to his cock, which had filled out again. He wrapped his hand around it. Would Aziraphale’s be thicker than his? Longer? Did he have a foreskin? That seemed like the kind of question Crowley should know the answer to, but he didn’t. He brushed the head of his own with his fingers, wondering if Aziraphale was as sensitive there as he was. 

There would be commentary, Crowley knew. If he ever did get his hands on the angel’s cock, Aziraphale would be only to happy to offer guidance. _Faster. Oh, yes, right there. Focus on the tip. A little lighter. Oh, Crowley, that’s lovely._

Resting one hand on the wall, Crowley used the other to follow the instructions of the imaginary angel in his mind. Aziraphale’s voice guided him just as it had earlier. His orgasm was as powerful as it had been the first time, leaving him with his forehead resting on black tile, his breath faster and harder then usual.

The only thing which could have made it better would have been sharing it with the real Aziraphale.

Sitting at his desk in a chair that was every bit as uncomfortable as it looked, Crowley poured himself a glass of whiskey. Then he drank it in one long swallow, enjoying the way it burned his throat.

Not that long ago he’d been imagining something else in his throat, something that didn’t so much slide as move back and forth. 

It was a good thing he was already on the outs with Hell, because wanting to suck an angel’s cock was the sort of thing that could get you booted out of the demonic brotherhood.

Not that it was much of a brotherhood. More like a gang, really.

Crowley poured himself another drink.

For thirty-six hours he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off of his corporation. In truth, he hadn’t tried. Resisting temptation had never been one of Crowley’s strengths. If it had, he most likely wouldn’t be a demon.

Every time he’d brought himself off, he’d thought of Aziraphale. Every single time. Even when he’d tried not to. 

And he really had tried. Once he’d made it all of four minutes without thinking about the angel. 

He’d even tried to imagine what Aziraphale imagined when he masturbated. After all, he was the expert. He’d been doing this for thousands of years, millenniums of experience, that one.

The thing was Crowley hoped — It’s not very demonic hope, but then Crowley had never been much of demon. He’d been coasting on that whole garden thing for six thousand years. — that Aziraphale had imagined him, at least once in a while. Who else was he going to think about? Gabriel? Michael? A human?

That last one was the most likely. 

Crowley wished he hadn’t been so distracted during their last conversation. He was fairly certain Aziraphale had been aroused at the end. But that didn’t mean he’d been aroused because of Crowley. It might have just been the situation.

Patience, they say, is a virtue. Crowley had plenty of it, especially for a demon. He could hatch plots, like the creation of the M25, that would take years to come to fruition. But his curiosity was his downfall. It always had been. When Crowley wanted to know something, he wanted to know it now. 

And right now he wanted to know if Aziraphale had ever thought about him the way he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Aziraphale. There was only one way to find out.

He picked up his phone.

Aziraphale was waiting when Crowley arrived carrying a bag full of take-away from the Indian place near his flat.

“That smells delicious,” Aziraphale said, shutting the door behind Crowley and turning the open sign to closed. He tilted his head toward the back of the shop. “I thought we’d eat in the sitting area.”

“That’s fine.” Crowley followed him to the couch where Aziraphale had set the coffee table with plates, silverware and glasses. 

Picking up a bottle from a side table, Aziraphale filled their glasses while Crowley sat in the middle of the couch and removed their dinner from the bag, handing a container of lamb vindaloo to the angel just as Aziraphale sat beside him, closer than usual, posture perfect as always. Aziraphale carefully spooned the vindaloo onto their plates in equal amounts, adding rice and naan before presenting one to Crowley.

Accepting the plate, Crowley leaned against the back of the couch. His recent activities should have given him an appetite, but he found himself picking at his food as he tried to find the right conversational gambit.

“So, what have you been up to?” Aziraphale asked, the emphasis on the word ‘up’ so slight Crowley thought he might have imagined it. 

“Oh, this and that,” Crowley answered.

“I’d have thought, given the success of our recent experiment, that you’d have been attempting to replicate the results, as they say.”

“Perhaps I have been.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Good for you. Pleasure is good for the soul, you know.”

“Somehow I doubt Gabriel would agree with you.”

“The things Gabriel doesn’t know or understand would fill an entire universe.”

The change in Aziraphale’s attitude toward Gabriel was one of the best things to come out of the recently averted Apocalypse, aside from the survival of the world, of course. It almost made the whole thing worth it, in Crowley’s view. “Do you think God approves?” It was a stupid thing to ask, because Crowley absolutely did not care what She thought. He hadn’t for a very long time. It was just easier than asking the things he really wanted to know.

“Of sex?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded.

“Of course. She wouldn’t have invented it otherwise. I like to think of sex as a gift.”

“To humanity.”

“And us.”

“Angels don’t have sex,” Crowley pointed out. “For that matter neither do demons. They might use it to tempt humans now and then, but they don’t seek sexual pleasure for themselves.”

“You and I both have. So clearly angels and demons can enjoy sex while in corporeal form,” Aziraphale said. 

“But this isn’t our natural form.”

“No, but we might be able to touch in that form, too.” Aziraphale leaned forward, as if he were about to confide a secret. “I’ve often wondered if it might be even more intimate than sex while corporated.”

Touching while discorporated was something Crowley had never considered. He wondered who Aziraphale had considered touching in his other form. That was a question for another day. “You and I aren’t exactly a large sample size,” Crowley said. Trying for nonchalant, he added, “How did you become so interested in sex, anyway?”

“I don’t think I’m that interested, no more than any other being.”

Instead of answering, Crowley took a bite of his naan and washed it down with some wine. Sometimes with Aziraphale silence was the best approach. He had a tendency to fill it.

“Do you remember the Babylonian goddess Ishtar?”

Crowley nodded. “Fertility god.” He took a bite of his vindaloo. It was quite tasty. Maybe orgasms really did sharpen the appetite.

“I attended some of her rituals.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up all on their own.

“I was hoping to find a way to convert some of her followers to the worship of the Almighty, and I always left before the audience participation portion of the service.” Aziraphale paused to take a drink of his wine. “One night there was this couple, a male couple—”

“Odd combination for a fertility ritual.”

“People were a lot less judgmental back then. They touched one another with such reverence. I was struck by it, couldn’t tear my eyes away.” He took another drink of his wine. “It was the first time I ever… became aroused.”

“So that was the first time you?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, I ignored it and it went away.”

“But then—?”

“How did I end up engaging in self-abuse, as Gabriel would no doubt call it?”

“I think he’d have called it self-abuse a hundred years ago,” Crowley said. “He’d probably use something cruder now.”

“No doubt,” Aziraphale agreed. He drank deeply of his wine. 

Crowley waited, certain Aziraphale would tell him the rest. Picking up the wine bottle, he refilled both of their glasses.

Aziraphale promptly took another drink. “The second time wasn’t quite so innocent, I’m afraid.”

“Do tell.”

“I was in China. I’d gone for a walk in the woods and I came across another couple, lovely young men, seeking a bit of privacy. They were leaning against a tree and kissing. Touching. Eventually one of them dropped to his knees and began fellating the other. I’d never realized such a thing could be done with so much…”

“Reverence,” Crowley suggested.

“Love.” Looking abashed, Aziraphale turned his attention to his dinner.

“Nothing wrong with love,” Crowley said, causing Aziraphale’s eyes to widen, or maybe he’d just gotten an especially spicy bite of vindaloo. “It is why the world is still here, after all.”

“Is it?”

“’Course it is. Adam loved the world — his friends and his home in Tadfield — too much to destroy it. He wouldn’t even leave it to be supreme ruler of everything.”

Aziraphale directly at him. “He wasn’t the only one motivated by love.”

“No,” Crowley agreed. “He wasn’t.”

They finished their dinner in silence.

“You know,” Crowley said, pouring the last of the wine into their glasses. “You never finished your story about the two Chinese lads.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

Aziraphale looked into his glass. “It’s embarrassing.”

“You can tell me anything. I won’t judge,” Crowley said, stretching an arm along the back of the couch, behind where Aziraphale was sitting sideways, facing Crowley.

“I know.” The angel tried for a smile then gave it up to take a long drink of his wine. “I touched myself through my pants, while I was watching them. I didn’t even realize I was doing it at first. When I did, I left. What they were doing was private, an intimate act no one else should have witnessed and there I was acting like some sort of perverse voyeur.”

“You didn’t mean to spy on them.”

“It was still the wrong thing to do,” Aziraphale said. Crowley didn’t argue. “I shouldn’t have stayed. I should have left as soon as I saw them.”

“What did you do after you left?” 

“You just want to know if I masturbated.” 

“You know all about my first time. You were part of it,” Crowley replied. He rarely won arguments with Aziraphale so he was surprised when the angel answered.

“I did. Masturbate. I couldn’t help myself.” Aziraphale gave the last of his wine a small swirl before drinking it in one long swallow. Then he rose from the couch and left the room. Returning with a fresh bottle, he topped off Crowley’s glass and refilled his own.

“I suspect you’re right,” Crowley said once Aziraphale was settled on the couch. “She didn’t intend sex to be a sin.”

“You just said I was right. I shall have to make a note of the date.”

Crowley smiled at him, unable to stop his fondness for Aziraphale from slipping through. “There’s still one thing I don’t know. Have you ever had sex with someone else?”

“Yes. I suppose you want details.” Aziraphale took another long drink of his wine. It was rare for his consumption to exceed Crowley’s.

“Only if you want to tell me.”

When Aziraphale spoke his voice was soft. “I tried it twice. They were both lovely men. Kind. I cared for them and they for me, but it wasn’t like what I’d witnessed. Eventually I realized it was because they didn’t know me, not really.” He lifted his gaze to Crowley’s. “It’s not as if I could tell them I was an angel.” 

Sadness wasn’t something Crowley was used to seeing in Aziraphale. He didn’t like it. Shifting closer, he said, “Angel.” Lifting his hand, he brushed his fingers across Aziraphale’s cheek. He’d never done that before. “I know what you are. I’ve even seen your wings.”

“You have.”

The words felt momentous, as weighty as anything they’d said at Tadfield Air Base. “And I would very much like to kiss you, if I may.”

“You may.”

Ignoring the pounding in his chest, Crowley leaned forward until his lips touched Aziraphale’s. It wasn’t much of a kiss, just the slightest of touches, but Crowley was certain every nerve in his body had jolted in reaction.

Aziraphale slowly opened his eyes. “I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

“How long?” His voice was rough.

“Four thousand years, give or take.”

“Then we should do it again.”

Aziraphale answered by bringing their lips back together. This kiss wasn’t as tentative, but it was still so gentle Crowley thought something inside of him was going to break.

“I thought about you,” he said when they parted. “The past couple of days I haven’t been able to think about anything else.”

“I’ve been a tad distracted myself,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“Would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow? We could spend the afternoon together, go for a walk or catch a matinee.”

“I would like that very much.”

Crowley kissed him again, because he could. “I should go,” he said, drawing back.

“You should,” Aziraphale agreed, but then he kissed Crowley.

“Getting up now,” Crowley said, rising from the couch before either of them could start another kiss.

Aziraphale followed. “Thank you for dinner,” he said, as they reached the door.

“You’re welcome.” Crowley kissed him again. The end of the evening required a good-night kiss, after all.

Aziraphale beamed at him. A happy Aziraphale was an entrancing sight.

Crowley forced himself through the door. Tomorrow wasn’t that far away.

As soon as he turned the key in the Bentley, Freddie Mercury’s voice came from the speakers, singing, “This thing called love…”

Crowley ignored it.

Crowley glanced at the clock. He was supposed to pick up Aziraphale at noon and it was only 10:30. He’d just have to find some way to keep busy. Picking up his mister, he headed for the plant room. He could practically smell the terror as soon as he opened the door. And yet, it wasn’t as rewarding as usual.

He worked systematically, inspecting each leaf, giving each plant just the right amount of mist. The fact that he was humming under his breath did nothing to reassure the plants.

One of his favorites, a tall, lush rubber plant had a single spot on one of its leaves. Instead of carting it off to the garbage disposal, he merely growled “fix it.”

This, too, did nothing to reassure the plants. Perhaps they’d have felt better if they had recognized the tune Crowley was humming. But none of the plants had spent enough time in the Bentley to hear all of Queen’s greatest hits and Crowley would never have chosen to play “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” in his flat.

“You’re early,” Aziraphale said when Crowley opened the door to the bookshop. It was 11:50 a.m.

Aziraphale was sitting at the desk where he liked to hide from customers, and Crowley crossed the shop to stop beside him. “And you have a new bow tie.”

Aziraphale flushed. “I thought it might be good to change things up a bit.”

“I like it. The blue matches your eyes.”

“Oh, that’s, em, very kind.” He rose from his chair. “Shall we go?”

“We shall.” Crowley considered offering Aziraphale his arm, but decided it would make him seem ridiculous. “Where would you like to go?”

“I thought you had a place in mind,” Aziraphale said, turning to lock the bookshop.

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” 

“There’s a French bistro not too far from here that has the best crepes I’ve eaten outside of France.”

Crowley gestured for Aziraphale to lead the way. 

Aziraphale smiled at him. Crowley smiled back.

When they got to the restaurant, the hostess greeted Aziraphale by name, causing Crowley to smirk. 

“How often do you eat here?” Crowley asked after they were seated.

“Not that often. Once a week.”

“You do like your crepes.”

“The ratatouille’s good too,” Aziraphale said, picking up his menu.

Crowley glanced over his. “Maybe I’ll try it. Unless there is something else you’d recommend?”

“You should have whatever you’re in the mood for, my dear.”

“I don’t think that’s on the menu.”

With a delighted expression, Aziraphale leaned toward him. “Look at us. We’re _flirting_.”

Covering Aziraphale’s hand with his own, Crowley stroked his thumb over the angel’s knuckles. “I do believe we are.”

“And that,” Aziraphale said, looking at their hands, “is a public display of affection.”

Crowley leaned in close. “And you know what, angel? You can have as many public displays as you would like.”

Aziraphale brightened even more.

Crowley left his hand where it was.

They walked to the park after lunch, having decided on ice cream for dessert. Their hands brushed repeatedly, probably because Crowley was walking as close to Aziraphale as he could manage. They’d gone less than half a block when Aziraphale took the hint and clasped Crowley’s hand in his.

Crowley smiled.

Neither of them said a word.

The ice cream, it turned out, hadn’t been one of Crowley’s better ideas. He hadn’t known anyone, let alone an angel, could make eating a Cadbury Flake so suggestive. 

Ignoring the tightening in his pants, Crowley sucked on his strawberry ice-lolly. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should walk.”

When they stopped to watch the ducks swimming in the Thames, Aziraphale tossed the last of his cone to them and Crowley nearly groaned with relief. He’d spent the past ten minutes not watching Aziraphale lick vanilla ice cream from a cone. “Aziraphale,” he said, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.

Aziraphale turned toward him, the same small smile playing about his lips that had been there the whole afternoon. 

Crowley kissed him. Aziraphale tasted faintly of vanilla and chocolate flake, but that was fine with Crowley. Fortunately, he’d finished his lolly, because Aziraphale would have been quite put out with him if he’d gotten strawberry juice on his jacket, which would undoubtedly have happened when Crowley wrapped his arms around him.

Having Aziraphale in his arms enhanced the kissing in ways Crowley hadn’t expected. Embracing brought all their bits together, meaning Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s erection with his own.

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale said, drawing back just enough to speak, “we should go back to the bookshop.”

“What happened to all of those public displays?”

“Some things are better in private.”

Crowley couldn’t argue with that. Taking Aziraphale’s hand in his, he started back toward the shop. He didn’t let go until they reached the door and the angel needed use of his hand to unlock it.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Aziraphale asked, taking off his jacket and turning to hang it on a usually empty coat rack.

“No, thank you,” Crowley said, taking a step toward him, but only after letting his gaze drop appreciatively downward. Aziraphale’s arse curved rather nicely, he decided.

Aziraphale turned around. “Something to eat, then?”

Crowley took another step. “No, but thank you for offering.”

“Perhaps a — oh, never mind,” Aziraphale said and kissed him. It was the kind of kiss that got straight to business. The business of making Crowley’s toes curl, that is. 

Aziraphale kissed him as if he’d been waiting four thousand years to do that very thing. Which he had.

Crowley responded like he’d never known anything could feel quite this good. Which he hadn’t.

How long they kissed, Crowley had no idea. He only knew the feel of Aziraphale in his arms, warm and solid, and the way it felt when Aziraphale stroked his back, and the sweetness of the angel’s mouth on his.

But all good things must end, and this had to because if it didn’t Crowley was fairly certain he was going to come apart or explode, or maybe just climax in his trousers.

“I think I’ll take that drink now,” he said, pulling his lips from Aziraphale’s but keeping his arms around him. 

“Are you sure?”

Crowley nodded and kissed his forehead.

“I’ll get us some iced tea,” Aziraphale said.

“That would be lovely.”

Aziraphale went toward his kitchen and Crowley collapsed onto the couch, legs spread. Nobody had warned him it would feel so much like drowning, like he was losing himself, sinking into a miasma of desire and affection and need. He rubbed his hands on his thighs and drew in a deep breath. He could do this. For Aziraphale he could do just about anything. 

He smiled when Aziraphale handed him a glass and took a long drink. There was too much sugar and not enough lemon, but that was always the case with Aziraphale’s iced tea. “Thank you,” he said.

“Thank you for lunch,” Aziraphale said, smiling softly as he lowered his glass. “You enjoyed it, I hope.”

“I did, yes. Your taste in restaurants has always been impeccable.”

“We all have our hobbies.”

Despite having been the one to pull away, watching Aziraphale now just made Crowley want to kiss him again. He downed the rest of his iced tea in a single swallow and placed the glass on the coffee table.

Aziraphale’s hand closed over his. “Is anything the matter?”

“Just thirsty,” Crowley said, turning his hand so he could use his thumb to stroke the edge of Aziraphale’s palm. 

Curiosity wasn’t Crowley’s only weakness, or even his greatest one. Crowley’s biggest weakness stood about 5’ 10” and had curls so pale they were almost white and the gentlest gaze Crowley had ever seen. 

Now that weakness was looking at him with a slight frown and an expression that said ‘please kiss me again.’ 

So Crowley did.

This time it was as if all of the possibilities he’d felt in their earlier kisses had blossomed, melding their mutual desire and affection into something tender and sweet, but not weak or fragile. Something compelling.

Then Aziraphale drew away just enough to press his lips to the side of Crowley’s neck and Crowley groaned. 

“Aziraphale,” he said, sitting up from he’d been pressed into the back of the couch. “I should go.”

“If that’s what you want.” Aziraphale shifted back into his usual perfect posture.

Uncertain if he’d hurt his friend’s feelings, Crowley tried to offer an excuse. “It’s just —” He gestured vaguely toward the door. “Things to do.” He didn’t have anything to do, nothing pressing, and they both knew it.

“It’s quite all right. I understand.” Aziraphale gave Crowley’s hand a quick squeeze then let go. “Besides, how often do beings as old as we are get to try something completely new?”

“Not often.”

“Precisely, which is why we should take our time, savor the experience. There’s no need to rush.”

Crowley was quite certain that, just this once, Aziraphale would have been fine with rushing. Letting his gratitude show in his smile, he said, “No, no need at all.”

They shared a last kiss at the door and then Crowley stepped out into the sunshine and started for his car. The Bentley, of course, played Queen’s “Somebody to Love” the whole drive home, giving Crowley a target for his frustrated glare.

Crowley had been home one hour, fourteen minutes and 37 seconds when he picked up his phone.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said as soon as Aziraphale answered.

“There’s no need to be. I understood.” Of course he had. Understanding was one of those things Aziraphale did. He could teach an angel empathy. Angels other than himself, that is. Lessons most of them badly needed, in Crowley’s view.

“I wish I did.” Crowley had never been good at confession, but somewhere along the line he’d learned how to talk to Aziraphale. “I can’t settle. I can’t think about anything but you.”

“I am familiar with the feeling.”

“I hoped you might be. So what do I do?”

“I don’t think there’s anything you can do.”

“Might help if I could at least get rid of this erection.”

Aziraphale chuckled. A rare sound, it made Crowley smile. “I thought you’d had quite a bit of practice doing just that the past few days.”

“Well, yes, but this one is different. It’s yours.”

“Mine?”

“You started it. It started with you. The others did too, but those were from thinking about you. This one is from actually being with you. You know that; you were there.”

“Would it help if I said I was in the same position?”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“So you haven’t?” Crowley asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Same reason as you, I suppose. It seemed wrong somehow to become aroused with you and then finish alone.”

“We could—”

“Are you suggesting _phone sex_?” Aziraphale asked before Crowley could finish, sounding equally delighted and scandalized at the prospect.

“I didn’t think you knew what phone sex was.”

“I may not be as up on the latest trends as you are, but I don’t live under a rock, Crowley. Besides, I’m the one with the longstanding interest in sex. You’re a Johnny-come-lately.”

Crowley grinned. A mildly testy Aziraphale was an entertaining Aziraphale. “I am at that,” he agreed. “So perhaps you should start us off. You did just fine last time.”

“That was unintentional. You called me for help. I couldn’t very well say ‘no,’ now could I?”

“Not and be you,” Crowley answered. “If I had stayed, what would be doing now, do you think?”

“I think we’d be naked in my bed.”

“I didn’t know you had a bed.”

“I don’t use it often, but I would very much like to share it with you.”

“What else do you want?”

“I want to see you naked. I’ve imagined it countless times, but I’m sure my imagination can’t compare to the reality.”

“You could have looked, you know, when you were in my body.”

“No. I want you in your body when I see it naked for the first time.”

“I want to see you, too,” Crowley said, because he did. “By the way, do you own a shower?”

“Yes, why?”

“I may have imagined us together in mine, which made me wonder if you had one.”

“Oh, what were we doing?” 

There was such eagerness in Aziraphale’s voice that Crowley couldn’t resist teasing him. Not that he tried, really. “This and that.”

“Crowley.”

He smiled at the ceiling. “I was washing myself after the first time I…” It was a challenge trying to find the right words for discussing sex with Aziraphale, who managed to be endearingly prim and without shame at the same time. 

“Wanked?” Aziraphale suggested.

“Yes. You should have warned me it was so messy.”

“You’ve lived among humans long enough to know about the mess.”

Which was true, so Crowley didn’t argue the point. “I was cleaning myself, and I started to wonder what it might feel like if I was washing you instead.”

“I think I’d like that.”

“I think I would, too,” Crowley said, then resumed his story. “When I got to your cock, I imagined that you’d have lots of helpful suggestions for me.”

“I do like to be helpful.”

Crowley pressed his hand to his cock through his trousers. “Then I started doing to myself the things I imagined you telling me to do to you.”

“That sounds very sensible.”

“Sensible?” Crowley hadn’t intended to sound quite so offended, but he was a tad offended.

“Taking direction from the person being touched is the sensible thing to do. I would quite appreciate if you were to provide some direction when I touch you for the first time.”

“I share my first sexual fantasy and you tell me it’s sensible,” Crowley said, but any offense he’d felt had evaporated when Aziraphale said when instead of if.

“I meant it as a compliment. If it makes you feel better, it was also quite sexy, especially the part where you were naked in the shower.”

“Like that image, do you?”

“Very much. I like it even more when you add in the part where you were stroking your cock.”

“While thinking about you, angel. Don’t forget that part.”

“I haven’t.”

“Your turn,” Crowley said.

“My turn?”

“To share a fantasy.”

“I’ll have to think for a minute. There are so many to choose from.”

“You should choose one I’m in.”

“That hardly narrows the range of choices. I have imagined us in the bath, but those were more idle thoughts than a full-blown fantasy. Although you were naked and in my arms. I was stroking your cock, doing my best to draw it out, make it last, give you as much pleasure as possible.”

“Angel,” Crowley breathed.

“Are you touching yourself?”

“Just through my clothes.”

“You should take them off, all of them, please.”

“All right.” Rising from the bed, Crowley stripped away his clothing in record time and lay back on the bed. “I’m naked now. Are you?”

“No.”

“I want to think of you naked.”

“I don’t have to be naked for you to think of me naked.”

“Aziraphale.”

“I’d have to go upstairs. My phone has a plug, remember, connects it to the wall?”

“Miracle it.”

“All right.” A moment later Aziraphale asked, “Can you still hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’m on my way upstairs now, with the phone. Well, part of it.”

“Undo your bow tie.”

“Done.”

“And the top button on your shirt.”

“Done.”

Crowley closed his eyes. “I haven’t been able to decide if I want to miracle you naked the first time, undress you with my hands, or ask you to do it for me.”

“I prefer the second option, at least the first time.”

“I like that one, too, but you wear so many damn layers and I’m not known for my patience.”

“You can be patient when it matters.”

And everything involving Aziraphale mattered. “That settles it then. The first time we have sex I’ll undress you with my hands.”

“I’ll try and wear fewer layers.” After a moment, Aziraphale spoke again. “I have imagined it, you know, option three, me undressing for you.”

“Tell me.”

“Once again, there are choices. I’ll need a moment to pick one.”

“So you’ve imagined me a few times, then?” Crowley hated himself for asking, but it couldn’t be helped.

“More than a few.”

“How many more?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t make a little check mark on the wall every time I thought about sex with you.”

“But you thought about it a lot?”

“Not every day. Well, sometimes every day. I’d see you and you’d do something or say something and then I’d be unable to stop thinking about you, at least for a while. You always seemed to show back up just when I’d started thinking about something else.”

“That’s because I could never stay away from you, not for long.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said.

“Yeah.” 

“We don’t seem to be very good at phone sex,” Aziraphale said.

“Keep losing the thread, don’t we?”

“Yes.”

“That’s my fault, I expect,” Crowley said. He was, after all, the one who had sidetracked them with his need for reassurance.

“No, it’s not. Intimacy is harder than it looks,” Aziraphale said. After a moment’s silence, he added, “Do you remember what London used to smell like in the summer?”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Indoor plumbing and sewage systems, mankind’s greatest inventions.”

“I used to imagine you insisting that we go away together, get out of the city, away from the stench.”

“I’m surprised I didn’t. I was always looking for an excuse to spend time with you.”

“In my fantasy, we stopped for the night at an inn. They had only one room left. We took it. You went to bed. I’d planned to read, but there wasn’t enough oil in the lamp and the proprietor had made it clear we wouldn’t be getting anymore. So instead I watched you sleep. There was moonlight coming through the windows and you looked lovely. I tried to stay away, but I found myself kneeling next to the bed and reaching out to stroke your hair. I always liked it long. 

“I thought you were asleep, but you opened your eyes. My hand stilled, but I didn’t pull it away. We looked at each other for a long moment and then you said I should lay down, rest at least, and lose some of my clothes. Apparently, you were sweating just looking at me. So I stood up and began to undress. I could feel your eyes on me, but I didn’t stop.

“Clad in just my drawers, I got into the bed. You moved over to make room, but not very far, leaving us just inches apart. We lay there on our sides, looking at one another. I don’t think I’d ever wanted anything as much as I wanted to touch you.”

“Angel,” Crowley said, voice rough.

“So I did. I touched your cheek with my fingers and you didn’t move away, didn’t try to stop me. So I just kept touching. I traced the shell of your ear, slid my fingers along the side of your neck, cupped your shoulder in my hand, and moved it down over your bicep. When I placed my hand on your chest, you covered it with your own. Then you leaned in and kissed me. I wrapped my arms around you, pulling you close.”

“I wanted you,” Crowley said, before he could question whether he was allowed to add to the story. “Most of the time, I avoid being touched, but not with you. I want you to touch me so badly I ache with it.”

“I do, too. Ache. For you.”

“Tell me how you touched me, how we kissed, everything we did together.” Crowley had to know. It hadn’t happened anywhere outside of Aziraphale’s mind, but it felt like it had.

“Kissing brought your bare chest against mine for the first time. I gasped at the feel of it. I rolled onto my back, and you came with me. I liked it, being under you, feeling your weight on top of me. Plus, it let me caress your back and shoulders, all that smooth skin. You kissed me like you couldn’t get enough. Neither could I. I’d wanted you for so long, and now I had you. I kept moving my hands over every part of you I could reach. I couldn’t get enough of the feel of your skin. 

“You began to rock against me. I don’t think you even realized you were doing it at first. 

“I loved it, loved the feel of your erection rubbing against mine, even through our drawers. But I don’t think you did, because suddenly it was just skin on skin, the two of us rocking together.

“There were so many things I’d imagined doing with you, but in that moment it was enough just to have you in my arms, our bodies pressed together as we kissed, our cocks rubbing.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “I need—”

“Touch yourself. Please.”

“I want to touch you,” Crowley confessed, as if Aziraphale didn’t already know. “I want to learn your body, what you like. And then I want to do everything you like over and over again. I want to suck your cock, and feel you inside me. Right now, right this moment, I want to hear you come. Please.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “Dearest.” 

“Touch yourself for me.”

“I am. All for you. I’m going to climax for you.”

Crowley stroked himself, trying to go slow, not wanting to come before Aziraphale, but it wasn’t easy, not with the angel panting softly through the phone. “How are you touching yourself?”

“I’m stroking the whole length, faster than usual because I’m so deeply aroused, have been ever since you called me complaining about your cock not working.”

“Did you wank after I hung up?”

“Yes. I thought about you in your bed touching yourself and imagined myself there with you, and climaxed faster than I had in years.”

“You’re the only thing that gets me hard,” Crowley said.

“Oh, Crowley, Crowley, I’m —” Aziraphale moaned, and just the sound of it, the knowledge that Aziraphale had called Crowley’s name while coming was enough to send Crowley himself over the edge.

It was several minutes before he collapsed back against the bed. “I think I know why humans describe the aftermath of an orgasm as being spent,” Crowley said.

“Mmm,” Aziraphale agreed.

Crowley smiled, widely.

“I’m so relaxed I might be able to sleep, except I need to clean my clothes,” Aziraphale said. He sounded even more satisfied than he did after a good meal.

“Never finished undressing?”

“Never really started, and I’m afraid I’ve made a bit of a mess.”

“Miracle them clean.”

“We agreed no frivolous miracles.”

Crowley closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Aziraphale breathing. “I’m glad you didn’t have to get a new body.”

“Technically, this is a new body. It just looks exactly like my old one.”

“Does it feel any different?”

“Not really.”

“That’s good. I always liked your corporation, thought it suited you.”

“I like yours, as well.”

“So much you’ve been picturing me naked for centuries.”

“Everyone needs a hobby.”

Crowley laughed. “I suppose that’s true.”

“We should probably hang up.”

“Probably,” Crowley agreed reluctantly. “So was phone sex everything you’d hoped?”

“It was more, much more.”

“I’m glad.”

“Good-night, Crowley.”

“Good-night, angel.”

Placing his phone on the stand beside his bed, Crowley stretched and considered getting up to clean himself. Then he rolled onto his side and went to sleep.

When he woke, it was morning, a bright, cheerful morning. It didn’t irritate Crowley in the slightest. He hummed as he showered, and then left for the best French bakery in London. 

He emerged a short time later with coffee, a hot cocoa, and a bag full of pastries. The cocoa was still piping hot when he arrived at the bookshop. This could have been thanks to the speed with which the Bentley traveled through London’s early morning traffic, or it may have been the result of a small demonic miracle. Crowley wasn’t about to tell.

He knocked on the shop door, which was still locked. 

“This is a welcome surprise,” Aziraphale said when he opened it, immediately stepping back to let Crowley inside and locking the door behind him, even though he was due to open the shop in a few minutes. 

“I brought breakfast,” Crowley announced. 

Aziraphale smiled at him, happy and maybe a little besotted. Crowley wasn’t entirely sure what besotted looked like on an angel. “I have plates in the kitchen.”

Crowley followed him into the small kitchen, placing both the pastries and the beverages on the table. The next thing he knew Aziraphale was leaning in to kiss him briefly, but sweetly.

“Thank you for bringing breakfast.” 

“You’re welcome.”

Aziraphale sat at the small table and reached into the bag for a croissant. “Will you get the strawberry preserves from the icebox?”

Crowley did as he was asked, placing the preserves on the table and taking the chair next to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale was busy with slicing his croissant in half and smearing it with the preserves. Crowley told himself it was ridiculous to be jealous of a pastry, but he had hoped to have that attention focused on him.

Then he noticed the angel’s clothes. “You aren’t wearing your coat.”

“No,” Aziraphale said. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“Or your waistcoat.”

“Seemed a bit warm for a waistcoat this morning.”

It had been a typically chilly London morning. “Now that you mention it, it is a little warm.” Standing, Crowley removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. He hadn’t bothered with a waistcoat either. As he sat back down, he reached for the pastries, removing a croissant for himself.

He was considering whether or not to have some preserves with it when he noticed Aziraphale’s smile. Over the centuries, Crowley had spent a lot of time thinking about that smile. Or rather smiles. There was the happily relieved smile, and the ‘I’m having fun’ smile, and the joyful smile that could light a city block all on its own. This was a new smile. It was slyly pleased, definitely anticipatory and just plain happy all at once. Crowley wanted to put that smile on Aziraphale’s face every morning.

“Try it with the preserves,” Aziraphale said, nodding at Crowley’s croissant.

Crowley dutifully reached for a knife.

He was partway through his croissant when Aziraphale said, with an artless attempt at casualness, “I was wondering if, after breakfast, you might like to accompany me upstairs.”

In all the time Aziraphale had owned the shop, he had never once invited Crowley upstairs. “Sure. What’s upstairs?”

“The bathroom.”

Crowley just looked at him.

“And my bedroom.”

“Anything else?” Crowley asked, although he was certain there wasn’t. Just because they were shifting from friends to whatever it was they were becoming, that wasn’t a good reason to stop teasing Aziraphale.

“No.”

“And what would we do upstairs, angel?” 

“I would very much like to lay on my bed with you and kiss,” Aziraphale said with a touch of defiance.

“It does sound more comfortable than the couch.”

“Precisely, and we wouldn’t have to do anything else, unless you wanted to.”

Reaching across the table, Crowley covered Aziraphale’s hand with his. “I suspect I will want to, but we should start with kissing.”

Aziraphale’s smile was downright blinding. “Finish your breakfast.”

Crowley did, not really tasting the rest of his croissant or the sips of coffee he washed it down with. He didn’t want to down all of the coffee in case Aziraphale wasn’t keen on kissing someone who tasted of coffee. He would have offered to help clean up after breakfast, but as soon as they stood Aziraphale wrapped an a hand around Crowley’s wrist and began leading him toward the stairs.

Climbing the stairs behind Aziraphale offered him a very nice view.

Aziraphale’s bed was a simple one with a plain wooden headboard, covered with a colorful quilt Crowley suspected had been around for a decade or two, maybe three. Looking at it, Crowley swallowed.

“We can go back downstairs,” Aziraphale said, drawing Crowley’s gaze away from the bed.

Crowley had no idea where the nerves were coming from. He was 6,000 years old, after all, and if there was any being in the universe he trusted, it was Aziraphale. Maybe his age was the problem. As much as he craved novelty and eagerly sought whatever new diversion the humans had invented, he hadn’t done anything new — other than avert the Apocalypse, and that had been a group effort — in a long time. And this was new. This was very new.

Crowley hadn’t done anything this fast since he’d fallen, and even that had taken a while.

“No,” Crowley said, toeing off his shoes. “You have a very comfortable-looking bed, and I want to try it.” He sat on the edge, made a show of bouncing a bit. “Not bad.”

Stepping close, Aziraphale rested his hand against the side of Crowley’s neck. “It looks better with you on it.”

“Now who’s flirting?”

“I am flirting, aren’t I?”

“You are. And you know what follows flirting?” Crowley asked. “Kissing.”

Aziraphale could easily have pointed out that humans flirted all the time without it leading to anything else. Instead, he bent close and pressed his lips to Crowley’s.

He tasted of strawberry with a hint of cocoa. Or maybe it was cocoa with a hint of strawberry. Crowley was too focused on how it felt to bother with cataloging the taste. The shock of those lovely soft lips touching his own would wear off someday, he was certain, but that day definitely wasn’t today. 

They kissed slowly, lips meeting, parting and meeting again, over and over, as if they had nothing else to do, at least not today, maybe not for a millenia. The only problem was the angle, which wasn’t the best for Crowley’s neck. So between kisses he shifted backwards, deeper onto the bed. Aziraphale followed, kneeling on the edge of the bed. Crowley lay with his head on the pillows and patted the spot next to him.

Aziraphale stretched out beside him, resting on his side. “I never thought this would happen,” he said.

“I never knew it could happen.” With a soft smile, Crowley reached out and brushed his fingers along the side of Aziraphale’s face. “But then you were always the clever one.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Aziraphale answered. 

Not wanting to argue the point, Crowley rose up and kissed him.

Aziraphale returned the kiss, pressing Crowley back into the bed. Soon, they were wrapped around one another and Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s erection against his hip. That was another thing he was certain would never get old, at least not for a century or two, knowing the angel was aroused and that he’d caused it.

He ran his hands over Aziraphale’s back, getting a shudder in response. He did it again. “Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, shifting his lips from Crowley’s mouth to the side of his neck.

Crowley tilted his head in offering.

It was an offer Aziraphale quickly accepted, pressing kisses along the side of Crowley’s neck, pausing to suck gently. Crowley had had no idea such a simple touch could feel so good. If he had, he’d have done this centuries ago. Holding tight to Aziraphale’s shoulders, he gave in to the urge to press himself even closer.

“Okay?” Aziraphale asked.

“Tickety boo,” Crowley said, getting another one of those blinding smiles in answer. “Kiss me again.”

Aziraphale did. Only there was more passion in this kiss, which involved less lips and more tongue and made Crowley gasp.

He shifted, trying to bring his cock into alignment with Aziraphale’s. The angel must’ve figured out what he wanted, because he moved, and their cocks were pressed together. Crowley shifted his hips as much as he could with an angel on top of him, even as the eagerness of his kisses seemed to feed Aziraphale’s own passion.

It was better than he’d imagined, having Aziraphale over him, kissing him, the two of them almost rocking together. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped, drawing back to look down at him. Aziraphale’s eyes were shining. Crowley had heard the phrase ‘stunned pleasure,’ but this was the first time he’d ever seen it in someone else’s face. His own expression, he was certain, was much the same.

Reaching up, he ran his fingers over the knot at the center of Aziraphale’s bow tie. “May I take this off?”

“Yes.”

It came undone with a quick tug. Using both hands, Crowley opened the top button on Aziraphale’s shirt. “That looks much more comfortable.”

“You just hate my ties.”

“No, I don’t. They’re very you. In case you haven’t noticed, I happen to be quite fond of you.”

Aziraphale smiled again, one that was almost a grin, and shifted his hips. “That’s one word for it.”

“You’re a very naughty angel.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Aziraphale said, kissing Crowley briefly. “I’d say I’m being very a good angel, loving my fellow beings as I should. Or at least one being.”

“One very lucky being.” Wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, Crowley drew him down into another kiss. Then he used his weight to roll them so he was on top, and kissed his way along Aziraphale’s neck to the hollow of his throat. Sitting back on his heels, he looked down at the angel beneath him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Aziraphale disheveled before. He liked it. 

He ran his hands down the angel’s chest and along his sides. 

Aziraphale stared up at him, wide-eyed and wanting.

Crowley wanted, too. He placed his hands at the second button on Aziraphale’s shirt. “May I?”

“Yes.”

Crowley undid that button, then the one below it, slowly revealing skin and soft, pale hair. He itched to run his fingers through it. Tugging Aziraphale’s shirt free of his trousers, he undid the last buttons, spreading the shirt open and revealing all of Aziraphale’s torso. 

The angel was broader than he was, but not by much, and softer, but not too soft. Crowley was certain he’d be just right for a whole range of things they hadn’t done yet. Placing a hand on Aziraphale’s chest, he pushed it slowly through the hair there, watching as it curled around his fingers. 

He brushed a nipple, felt it harden even more from his touch. Then he bent to take it between his lips, sucking gently, rubbing it with his tongue, getting a gasp for his efforts. 

Aziraphale ran a hand through Crowley’s hair, cupping the back of his head, urging him closer. 

Crowley sucked a little more firmly. Then he shifted back.

“Remember when I said having my nipples played with wasn’t my favorite thing?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded.

“That was before you did it.”

Crowley smiled. “But there are so many things we haven’t done together yet. I think you should wait until we’ve tried them all to choose a favorite.”

“You’re probably right.”

“’Course I am,” Crowley said, bending to give the other nipple the same attention.

Reverence. That’s what had drawn Aziraphale to sex. Crowley hadn’t been certain he’d be capable of it, not even with Aziraphale. He was, after all, a demon. But he couldn’t think of a better word to describe what he felt as pressed his lips to his friend’s skin.

He kissed his way lower, but before he could reach Aziraphale’s trousers, the angel reached for him, drawing him into another kiss. 

Aziraphale tugged at his shirt. “May I?”

“Of course,” Crowley said, shifting so he was kneeling above Aziraphale’s legs. 

Sitting up, Aziraphale took Crowley’s shirt in his hands and drew it over Crowley’s head, then he dropped it to floor next to the bed. He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s now bare shoulder. Then he stroked Crowley’s chest, fingers brushing a nipple. “Oh,” the sound was out before Crowley could stop it. 

Aziraphale did it again. Then he bent and drew Crowley’s nipple between his lips. It was better than Crowley had imagined, a gentle tug that felt like it was drawing pleasure straight through him. He arched into the caress. When Aziraphale shifted to the other side, Crowley slid a hand into his hair and urged him closer. 

When Aziraphale looked up at him, a soft, pleased smile curving his lips, Crowley stared at him for a long moment. He couldn’t bring himself to look away. 

“Is something wrong, my dear?”

“No,” Crowley smiled. “Except that you’re overdressed. Your shirt is still on.”

“So it is,” Aziraphale removed his shirt and dropped it to the floor beside Crowley’s. Then he slid his legs out from between Crowley’s and moved onto his knees, directly in front of Crowley. On their knees, they were of a height, which made kissing especially nice. It also meant that when Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, their bare chests touched for the first time. 

Aziraphale was warm, and he was soft and strong at the same time, which made perfect sense. And Crowley wanted to wrap himself around the angel and never let go.

While he was holding on, Aziraphale was touching him, slowly stroking his hands over Crowley’s bare back, paying extra attention to where his wings were tucked away. The kisses, the touches, the feel of Aziraphale’s bare skin against his own, it was all too much and Crowley groaned.

Aziraphale took that as a hint to stop the kisses and instead slide his mouth along the side of Crowley’s neck, pausing to suck just as he had at Crowley’s nipple, with much the same result.

If things kept on as they were going, Crowley was going to climax before they’d even gotten started.

“Aziraphale,” he said, pulling slightly away. “Angel.”

“Too much?”

Crowley shook his head. “I want to touch you, too.” He covered Crowley’s erection with his hand. “Here. Only without the trousers in the way.”

“Anything for you, my dear,” Aziraphale said. Then he slid off of the edge of the bed and opened his trousers. He pushed them off, along with his pants, leaving him naked.

“God, you’re lovely,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale knelt back on the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure we should mention the Almighty during sex, might draw her attention.”

“You’re right. Won’t happen again.”

Cupping the side of Crowley’s neck in his hand, Aziraphale stroked his jaw with his thumb. “Will you please undress for me?”

Crowley moved to the side of the bed, convinced whatever grace he possessed had abandoned him. Then he stood and pushed his jeans to the floor, along with his pants. He looked down. He was still wearing socks, and he couldn’t remember Aziraphale removing his own. “Did you miracle away your socks?” 

“Yes.”

Crowley simply looked at him. This was a clear violation of their agreement to avoid unnecessary miracles, although to be honest it hadn’t been an easy habit for either of them to break. Still, socks seemed a bit unnecessary.

“There’s nothing sexy about removing one’s socks,” Aziraphale said. “Nothing at all.”

“Unless you’re with someone who has a fondness for feet.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Have I disappointed you by depriving you of the unveiling of my feet?”

Crowley couldn’t hold his back his smile any longer. “No. You haven’t disappointed me. As for whether I like feet, I’ve only been interested in sex for a few days. It’ll probably take me awhile to discover all of the things I like.”

Aziraphale wrinkled both his nose and forehead, in an expression Crowley had always considered cute. Demons weren’t supposed to consider anything cute, most especially not angels. “Do you think feet will be among them?” Aziraphale asked. “Not that I’m judging, it’s just that mine are ticklish.”

After taking a moment to miracle away his own socks, Crowley climbed back onto the bed and knelt in front of Aziraphale so they were again face to face. “I think there are lots of other, non-ticklish places, for me to touch.”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said, giving Crowley the relieved smile. 

Crowley had never realized until that moment how much of an invitation to kissing Aziraphale’s relieved smile was.

This time as they kissed, Crowley moved his hands over the angel’s bare skin. There was so much of it from his shoulders down to his arse, which did, indeed, fit perfectly in Crowley’s hands. “One of these days, I’m going to stretch you out on this bed naked and touch every part of you over and over again,” he said.

“We can do that whenever you would like.”

“What would you like?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale met Crowley’s gaze with his own. “You, Crowley, just you.”

Crowley hadn’t known he could kiss with the kind of heat that followed. It ended with them clinging to one another, almost panting. “Lay down, Aziraphale, please.”

He did, and Crowley paused a moment to just look. There was a solidity to the angel that his layers of clothes concealed, pleasantly muscled thighs and arms, the broad chest, a cock that was rising into the air, just asking to be touched. Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off of it. Reaching out, he a curled a hand around it.

Aziraphale gasped.

Crowley stroked slowly, learning the feel of Aziraphale’s skin, the thickness of it. He watched, mesmerized at the sight of his hand on such an intimate part of Aziraphale.

“That’s lovely,” Aziraphale said.

Raising his gaze from the angel’s cock to his face, Crowley smiled. “Yes, it is.”

Aziraphale smiled back. 

Moving closer, Crowley bent over the angel and pressed his face down next to Aziraphale’s cock. Over the years, he’d come to know Aziraphale’s scent better than any other, but this was new. Aziraphale, but earthier. He inhaled deeply and then turned his head to the side, bringing his lips into contact with Aziraphale’s shaft.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley slid his lips up the side of Aziraphale’s cock to the tip. He brushed his lips across it, then drew it inside. He had expected the weight of it on his tongue, the feel of smooth skin against his lips, he hadn’t expected the way it pushed his arousal to new heights. This was Aziraphale. He had a this precious, private part of his friend in his mouth. He sucked gently, but firmly, and Aziraphale moaned.

He began moving with the sucking, up and down the shaft, feeling Aziraphale with his lips and tongue, tasting and caressing at the same time. The reverence was back, one hundred fold. Because Aziraphale deserved this, deserved to be caressed with care and a desire to give pleasure.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered sliding his hand into Crowley’s hair.

Crowley added a hand, wrapping it around Aziraphale’s shaft just below his mouth.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale said.

He kept moving and sucking, his own cock so hard he thought it would burst.

Aziraphale moaned again when Crowley paused to circle the head with his tongue. He shifted his hips slightly, lifting them toward Crowley, who simply took him deeper. Aziraphale was nearing the precipice, Crowley knew and he wanted to take him over, wanted to feel it happen, wanted to taste Aziraphale’s release.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped again, and Crowley sped up his movements in response.

Then Aziraphale shuddered, and Crowley stopped moving as Aziraphale came. There was more bitterness in the taste of his release than Crowley had expected, but he didn’t mind. He simply swallowed it down, because there wasn’t any way he was going to miss out on any part of Aziraphale he could have.

When Aziraphale relaxed back into the bed, Crowley released him with a final kiss to the back of the shaft, and moved to lay next to Aziraphale.

“That was wonderful,” Aziraphale said. “Thank you.”

Crowley smiled and kissed him gently. “You’re welcome.”

Turning onto his side, Aziraphale slid his hand over Crowley’s flank. “What would you like?”

“Anything.” Crowley placed his own hand on Aziraphale’s chest. “Whatever you want.”

Aziraphale kissed him, slow and heated, and Crowley arched toward him, his body seeking more contact. 

“I could slide my hand over your cock,” Aziraphale whispered, his mouth hovering over Crowley’s ear, “just like you imagined. Or I could spread you out and kiss every part of you, ending with your cock, or I could settle above you and rub our cocks together…”

He wanted it all, but in that moment he needed Aziraphale’s hands on him. “Touch me. Please just touch me.”

“With pleasure, my dear,” Aziraphale said as his hand closed around Crowley’s cock. 

Groaning, Crowley buried his face in the curve of Aziraphale’s neck. 

“You feel so good in my hand, better than all of those times I imagined it. I’ve wanted to caress you for so long, Crowley.”

Too far gone to answer with words, Crowley pushed his hips forward and wrapped his arm around Aziraphale's back, using it to pull himself closer. His own release was right there. Crowley could feel it approaching with every stroke of Aziraphale’s hand, that lovely, gentle hand.

Then it was there, the pleasure peaking as Crowley shuddered, his cock releasing fluids in long streaks all over Aziraphale’s chest and belly. It was different from when he was alone, the intensity of it just this side of too much.

Aziraphale stopped moving, but left his hand where it was. 

Crowley’s breathing slowly began to return to normal. He pressed a kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s neck, then his lips, before resting his head on the pillow. “I’m fine. Better than fine,” Crowley said, answering Aziraphale’s question before he could ask it.

“Me, too,” Aziraphale said.

Smiling, Crowley raised his hand to touch Aziraphale’s cheek. “I didn’t think you could be any more attractive, but post-coital is a good look for you.”

“Then I shall have to try and look that way as often as possible.”

“I’ll help.”

“I had hoped you might.”

Crowley was certain he would stop smiling eventually, perhaps when he finally stopped gazing at Aziraphale. Not that he had any intention of looking anywhere else anytime soon.  
.

Crowley glared at the Bentley’s radio. It had finally stopped playing “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” for which Crowley was grateful. 

But ever since he and Aziraphale had begun having sex, it had been playing Queen’s “You Take My Breath Away” on endless repeat. After the first week, Crowley had adjusted. But now he was about to pick up Aziraphale for a picnic outside the city. He had already tried threatening the car into changing songs to no avail. The Bentley, perhaps aware of Crowley’s fondness for it, didn’t appear to take his threats all that seriously

So he had moved on to cajoling, which was absolutely not the same thing as pleading. Crowley was a demon and demons didn’t beg.

Crowley’s plants would likely disagree, but that hadn’t been begging, that had been sex. The things one said during sex couldn’t really be considered begging. It was more communicating one’s desires, which according to Aziraphale was just sensible. 

Who knew his plant room would turn Aziraphale on? And Aziraphale had gotten very good at blow jobs, but he had outdone himself that afternoon.

Crowley really shouldn’t think about that particular blow job, because that led to thinking about what had happened after the blow job, which had been Aziraphale spread across his bed, wings and all. Crowley had indulged himself for hours, touching and exploring before he’d finally slid inside Aziraphale and those wings had closed around him. 

Crowley shifted in his seat. It was definitely best not to think about that, especially since the whole point of the picnic was to do something that didn’t involve sex, not that Crowley was unhappy with all of the sex, but it had been nearly a month of sex whenever they felt like it. And they felt like it all the time.

Sucking in a breath, he tried one last time to reason with his car. “Look, you know how I feel about the angel. I’m pretty sure he knows how I feel about him. He’d have to be stupid not to, and he’s very clever, but we’re not talking about it yet. So if you just not say it for me, that would be very helpful.”

He patted the dashboard with what he hoped was the right mixture of threat and affection. “Right? Right.” 

Then he got out of the car and went to get Aziraphale.

Somewhat atypically, Aziraphale was ready to leave. He’d even worn his new bow tie for the occasion. 

As soon as Crowley started the car, the chorus of “You Take My Breath Away” began to play. He jabbed the power button, turning the radio off.

Aziraphale gave him a puzzled look, but didn’t say a word.

It was a gorgeous day, with just enough clouds to give Crowley something to look at as he lay on a blanket, his head resting on Aziraphale’s thigh. The food had been good, the wine even better, and Aziraphale had been pleased as punch with the whole thing.

Picnics, Crowley had decided, weren’t so bad. And now, when they were both relaxed and their brains weren’t addled by sex, was probably the best time to bring up the one thing that wouldn’t stop niggling about in the corner of his mind. “Do you think She approves,” Crowley asked, lifting his hand from where it rested on the blanket. 

Aziraphale tangled their fingers together. “Of us averting the apocalypse?”

“Of this. You and me.”

“Yes. God always approves of love.” 

“I don’t want you to fall.” There it was, finally, out in the open. It hadn’t occurred to Crowley at first, but when he’d realized just how passionate things had become, he’d begun to worry that perhaps an angel having non-stop sex with a demon wasn’t likely to meet with celestial approval.

“I won’t.”

“You can’t know that,” Crowley said. “All I did was ask questions.”

“I know.”

“So why did I fall?”

“Because She wanted you on Earth, wanted you exactly where you were, where you are.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I believe that.”

“But why me?”

“Because you ask questions. You think for yourself, Crowley. That’s a rare trait among angels. And demons. It’s one of the things that makes you special.”

Crowley swallowed. “It hurt,” he admitted. What he didn’t say is that the rejection had been far worse than the boiling pit of sulfur.

“I know.”

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, because Aziraphale’s understanding was sometimes too much. Drawing in a breath, he opened them again. “I don’t want that for you.”

“God will not cast me out for loving you.”

He had known it, of course. Crowley was neither blind nor stupid and there was no mistaking the way Aziraphale looked at him and touched him for anything else, for anything less. But hearing it still caused his heart to stutter. “I love you, too,” he said after a moment, because Aziraphale deserved to hear it.

Bending down, the angel kissed him softly. “Does this mean we can turn on the radio again?”

“Only if you don’t mind listening to Queen’s ‘You Take My Breath Away.’”

“I don’t.” He stroked his free hand through Crowley’s hair. “We should see that movie about Freddie Mercury, the one named for the song.”

“You thought the Velvet Underground played bebop, but you know who Freddie Mercury is?”

“He was very popular in certain circles.”

“Which circles might those be?” Crowley asked, sliding his fingertips over Aziraphale’s fingers and palm.

“Don’t be obtuse. It doesn’t become you.”

Crowley sat up, placing one hand on the far side of Aziraphale’s lap so he could lean close. “This would be the circle of men who prefer the company of other men, then.” 

“Yes.”

“You should introduce me.”

“Why?”

“We may be an angel and a demon, but to the rest of the world, we’re a gay couple.”

“There’s just one thing.” Aziraphale scrunched up his nose a bit, the way he did when he was uncomfortable. “Some of the men can be a bit… forward. Especially the younger ones.”

“They hit on you,” Crowley said.

“Well, yes.”

Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek in his free hand. “Of course they do.”

“You’re not surprised.”

“You exude kindness, angel. And I’m sure that some of those men haven’t had anywhere near enough kindness in their lives.”

“But you prefer it when I’m a bastard.”

“Only sometimes.” Crowley kissed him. “Only sometimes.”

The Bentley played “You Take My Breath Away” all of the way back to London.

Aziraphale, it turned out, knew all of the words.

**Epilogue**

Crowley was making coffee for himself and tea for Aziraphale, having already done the hard work of preparing breakfast by placing two croissants on plates, when Aziraphale called to him from the shop.

Aziraphale was standing at his desk, an envelope in his hand. Stepping up behind him, Crowley looked over his shoulder. It read: To Aziraphale and Crowley. “Where did that come from?”

“No idea. It wasn’t here yesterday.”

“I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

“Neither do I,” Aziraphale said.

“Guess we better open it,” Crowley said, bringing his hand up to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Picking up a letter opener, Aziraphale sliced the envelope open and turned it upside down. Two keys dropped into his hand. He turned his head, briefly meeting Crowley’s gaze before placing the keys on the desk, reaching into the envelope and withdrawing a single piece of paper. He unfolded it. “It’s a deed.”

It was neatly typed, with the property owners listed as Anthony J. Crowley and A.Z. Fell.

“Someone has given us a house,” said Aziraphale, turning toward Crowley. “Who would do such a thing, and why?”

“Only one way to find out,” Crowley said.

They set out after breakfast, heading southeast to the village of South Harting. It was a two-hour drive. Fortunately, the Bentley had once again resumed playing Queen’s full discography, or at least the band’s greatest hits, although the love songs did tend to turn up a little more than was strictly necessary in Crowley’s view.

“Nice day for a drive,” Aziraphale said.

It was. The sun was shining, and the temperature was a comfortable 22C. The weather was so pleasant Crowley saw no reason to rush the drive by speeding. This had the side benefit of making Aziraphale smile contentedly as they drove instead of clutching the door and saying “must you drive so fast” every ten minutes. 

They found the cottage on the very edge of the village. It was two stories of brick hidden behind some overgrown shrubs. Crowley would have his work cut out for him if they stayed.

Aziraphale insisted they knock before entering, just in case there had been some mistake. When there was no answer, Crowley inserted his key into the lock.

The vestibule was empty, and so were the rooms beyond. The living room was a good size, with tall, narrow windows designed to let in lots of light. It opened onto a sun room, which made Aziraphale turn and smile at Crowley, saying ‘it’s perfect for your plants’ without uttering a word. Crowley grudgingly agreed.

The dining room and kitchen were both fine. It wasn’t as though either of them cooked. 

Then they found the library. It wasn’t large, but it had built in floor to ceiling bookcases. Aziraphale’s face lit up when he saw them, and Crowley knew he’d soon be leaving London for South Harting, which he was certain would not be as charming as its name suggested. Villages never were.

“Shall we check upstairs?” Aziraphale asked, after having run his hand along every bookcase in the room.

“Might as well.”

There were two bedrooms upstairs, one of which opened onto a balcony. 

The bathroom had clearly been remodeled because it contained both a large, comfortable-looking shower and a claw-foot tub big enough for two. Once again, Aziraphale didn’t say a word, just turned to Crowley with a smile that managed to convey all of the things they could do together in that room.

“Best check the grounds,” Crowley said.

There were gardens behind the house, badly in need of tending. But the clincher was a small greenhouse, currently as empty as the house.

“Someone knows us very well,” Aziraphale said, turning to face Crowley in the empty greenhouse, hands pressed together in front of his chest.

“The question is who.”

“I should think the answer is obvious.”

“I don’t.”

“Think, Crowley, who has the power or resources to make something like this happen? Not my side, they’re angry with us. Definitely not your side. They wouldn’t do this even if they were happy with us, which they most decidedly are not.”

“Adam,” Crowley suggested.

“Is a boy. He restored what we had, but he’s not going to think of giving us a cottage. And there’s no way he’d know about your fondness for gardening.”

“I don’t like gardening. I just like scaring things.” He considered the situation. “The Device family is rich. All of that investment advice from old Agnes.”

“And why would they buy us a house?”

“Maybe Agnes told them to?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “We had the last prophecy, remember.”

“Maybe it was an earlier one.”

Aziraphale gave him a pitying look. 

Knowing he was clutching at straws, Crowley crossed his arms. “All right then, angel, what’s your explanation?”

He pointed upward, moving his hand up and down a couple of times.

“No,” Crowley said.

“Why not?”

“She sits on her hands through the Apocalypse and then decides to give us a cottage?”

“Maybe the Almighty wants to make it up to you.”

“You think She’s trying to apologize for casting me out by giving us a cottage in the South Downs with a greenhouse?” Crowley hadn’t intended to sound scathing, or maybe he had.

Closing the distance between them, Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s forearm. “Or maybe this is our reward for following the Ineffable Plan.”

“I hate that fucking word.”

“I know you do. I’m not so fond of it myself. But you have to have faith.”

“I’m a demon. I don’t have faith.”

“I think you do. I think you have faith in yourself, and me, and us together.”

Crowley shook his head. “It’s not the same.”

“Maybe not, but I think it’s enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“A good life.”

If Crowley were a proper demon, he’d have scoffed at the very idea. But if Crowley were a proper demon, he wouldn’t have been standing in an empty greenhouse in a South Downs with an angel. “You want to live here.”

“I do.”

“We can find a place with a claw-foot bathtub in London.”

“We could.”

Uncrossing his arms, Crowley placed his hands on Aziraphale’s hips. “That bedroom would hold a king-sized bed.”

“It would,” Aziraphale agreed, resting his hands on Crowley’s shoulders.

“Accepting the house doesn’t mean I forgive Her. She has a lot to answer for. I’m still not over the flood.”

“Perhaps, like the rest of us, She’s grown wiser with age.”

Crowley had his doubts. “What do you say we try that restaurant we passed on the way here?”

“That sounds lovely.”

“It may not be. We haven’t eaten there yet. What will you do if it turns out there aren’t any good restaurants nearby?”

Aziraphale was visibly distressed at the suggestion. “Learn to cook?”

Grinning, Crowley kissed him, just because he could.

Then they went in search of lunch.


End file.
